Poisonous Indeed
by Shineera
Summary: While in Orzammar... well, better enjoy the alcohol. Alistair and Zevran decide to play a drinking game with something a little stronger than just plain ale... One-shot done just for fun.


_Just something fun to get my mind off of some things. I do like writing about absinthe but the inspiration for this? Well... let's not talk about that, shall we XD_

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"What... exactly is this?"

Alistair turned the bottle on his hand, his eyebrow slightly raised while he looked at the dark liquid. It was curiosity that made him remove the lid of the container. It was also curiosity that made him lift it to his lips. The burning sensation on his nose and eyes was _most_ definitely not what he expected.

"Good grief, Zevran!! Are you trying to poison me? Finally? I thought you were an assassin, shouldn't you be better at this? It's not exactly subtle."

The blonde elf let out a chuckle and snatched the bottle out of Alistair's hands, taking a whiff and delighting himself in the scent of the liquid.

"Poor techniques to kill the ones who are poor of mind. It wouldn't be so hard but no... you underestimate me, my dear Alistair. Now, this," Zevran reached for a nearby glass and poured just a very small portion of the black liquor. "is absinthe."

"Absinthe?"

"Absinthe."

"I may come from the chantry, but I'm not _that_ clueless."

"Ah yes, you only know it in its basic form. But this? This is an entirely different beast. Black absinthe. More powerful, more bewildering than anything you have ever tried. This is not your average Ferelden wine and most certainly not dwarven ale. This my friend... is sweet, sweet venom."

Looking at Alistair under his eyelashes, Zevran brought the glass up to his smiling lips, taking the faintest of sips, licking his lips afterwards while offering the glass to the young man in front of him.

"Give it a try."

"Hum..." Alistair stared at the glass for a moment, wondering whether to pick it up or not. He had been quite weary of the elf, ever since he joined them but he had grown to... no, not trust him. He had grown _accustomed_ to him. Yes, that was it. And Ariadne trusted him. Not that it was enough reassurance, but he was stuck with him so... it might as well suffice.

Taking the elf's example, Alistair took only one small sip. It burned on his lips and throat but it did indeed have a distant tinge of sweetness, and he could not deny the allure of the black as midnight liquid. The aftertaste was slightly bitter but it added to his already dizzying state provided by Oghren's Ale, the finest in Orzammar to get absolutely plastered and unconscious. How Zevran had managed to find this liquor however, was beyond him. And Alistair didn't want to know.

Zevran had now mixed it with water, all of their alcohol already gone and the black absinthe being the only thing left. The elf decided that they should play a game. _I Never_, he called it. Alistair knew his fair share of drinking games but to do this with both Zevran _and_ this nice darkened bottle? It was most definitely trouble. But the ale was first and foremost and talked higher than his conscience. So he nodded, glanced at Oghren who was already on the floor, snoring himself away and grabbed the glass in front of him. Bring it on, he thought.

The next morning, Alistair really, _really, _ wished he didn't. He had barely gotten any sleep, more like two hours or so, he thought. A splitting headache made his head feel like it was about to explode and cover the room with bits of his brain and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the thought of food and eating and... oh Maker, he prayed for his stomach to please, _calm down_.

He remembered a few things, here and there. How Zevran had thrown into the air how he had never slept with a woman... well in the past three days. Alistair stood up (as well as one can when plentiful amounts of alcohol are involved), watched the room turn somewhat to the left, and shouted out "Liar!", while proudly taking a good gulp of his own glass. Beating Zevran at having sex made him incredibly proud, even if he could barely see the elf in front of him. It could be the barmaid. He wasn't all that sure, really.

Alistair felt a hand on his thigh and immediately looked at Zevran, trying to work out if the blonde hair belonged to the elf or... well Ariadne had blonde hair as well. But there was only Zevran in front of him and he was about to protest about the most certainly unwanted affection when he was overtaken by a fit of giggles. It was his own hand. So charming, he could not keep his own hands off of himself, he thought.

Ariadne eventually arrived from some quest she said she had to do... he didn't remember. Some dwarf girl who wanted to be a mage? Well right now he wanted to be a unicorn and fly away high above Orzammar's sky, but those were all entirely impossible events so instead of dwelling on them, he simply sat there, staring at her, with a grin on his face.

She looked so... blonde. And flushed. And pretty. And... he could see skin through her chainmail, under her plates. Had he noticed before? Well, he was most definitely noticing it now and didn't even see her frowning and crinkling her nose when she took one single whiff at him.

"Maker's breath... Zevran, what have you given him?"

Ariadne started to circle her arm around him, trying to get his own arm over her shoulders. He could hear some slurred laughter and he wondered why was it that Ariadne was so close to him now. It was hardly an appropriate place to do _it_ but she looked so... Ariadne-like. Alistair would most definitely not object.

"Oh for the love of... you reek."

"It's the smell of manhood! Of... of..."

How did the stairs get so long? He didn't know but he was too excited to reach the bed. He wondered why wasn't her chainmail on the ground already. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make the room stop spinning. But his stomach finally got the best of him and... well hello dinner.

The sun was shining so brightly and those damned birds seemed to be making some protest rally or something, since they were chirping so loudly. Alistair muttered under his breath and kept his hand over his eyes, nearly walking into Ariadne when she stopped to look at him.

"You're a right mess."Her voice, albeit low, felt like a thunderous roar through his head.

"Oh stop it. You drink too."

"Yes, but I know _how_ to drink."

"It's not my fault, now is it."

"Yes Alistair..." Ariadne rolled her eyes and bit her lip to try and stop grinning. "It's not your fault, we know. Keep telling yourself that."

She started walking again but not before he managed to get a glance at her armor as she turned forward. He would never look at those plates the same way again.


End file.
